


Hallucination

by Merkwerkee



Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [3]
Category: Masters of the Metaverse
Genre: Whumptober 2019, during his time in the Vietnam War, hallucination, or ghost? you decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee
Summary: When the going gets tough, the tough sometimes need a little pick-me-up
Series: Being Bruno Hamilton [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643020





	Hallucination

“Get up.”

Bruno’s muscles tensed involuntarily, trying to obey the order given, but a wave of pain ripped through him and he subsided with a groan. “Don’t….Don’t think I can,” he grunted, trying to move his arms through what felt like sludge. Everything was…Strange. Distant. The air around him dragged like pudding, and his muscles felt like jell-o, while the noises that reached his ears seemed like they were underwater. Except for the voice.

“I wasn’t asking you to _think_ , I’m _telling_ you! _On your feet soldier!_ ” Footsteps crunched clear over the rocky ground, crisp where everything else wavered strangely. They stopped right beside his head even as Bruno made another valiant attempt to obey.

“Hurts,” he gritted out, his own voice more felt than heard through the cacophony around him. Someone was screaming? People were yelling, something heavy was moving, and shots rattled like popcorn in a can; all of it was far away. Bruno couldn’t reach where it was, though he felt like he should. The voice agreed.

“Walk it off, Hamilton. Dyin’ ain’t a part of the mission objectives.” Gravel crunched again clearly. “Get up, you’re needed!” Dirt and rocks scraped together, liked they’d been stamped on by a heavy boot.

Bruno squinted. The sky above was red, but not with dawn; a thick haze in the air reflected even more light, making shapes murky and indistinct at beyond more than a few feet. Large shapes moved cautiously in the smog, a distant rumbling in the earth marking their progress. Smaller, black shapes surrounded them in loose formations, walking through the hellscape carefully as their forms flickered uncertainly.

Bruno coughed wetly, and the coppery stink of blood filled his nose as he spat red on red, the dusty ground drinking in the glistening liquid greedily. The blood smell managed to overcome all the other scents competing for attention; the sulphur stink of explosives, the sandy smell of the dirt underneath his face, the choking stink of the vehicles, and…..a hint of cologne?

“Get _up_ , Hamilton! Today ain’t the day!” Bruno’s eyes automatically sought the source of the voice. Standing there in, for some reason, full Service B uniform, was Gunnery Sergeant Major Williams. Unlike the rest of the scene he was clear, each crisp fold and crease in the uniform peculiarly sharp, every feature of his - displeased - face visible in high definition.

“Gunny,” Bruno wasn’t sure what to say to a man dead five years; Williams had died of a negligent discharge on the range he’d been training recruits on. The fact that he was here, with Bruno was…concerning. “Is it time, then?” Bruno asked heavily, both fearing and already half-accepting the answer.

Williams wasn’t impressed. “That shot do for your ears as well as your ribs? I just said today ain’t the day. You’re needed, Hamilton, now more than ever. So get on your feet! Ain’t time for a damn nap!” He swung his boot forward, a solid kick aimed at Bruno’s head.

Bruno opened his eyes just in time to see the knife heading for his chest.

Bringing up his rifle to block it was instinctual, the look of surprise on the soldier wielding it comical, and the moment of stunned inaction it caused just enough time to bring his rifle back around to bear and fire. The enemy soldier toppled, his chest ripped open in a spray of bullets and blood, and Bruno had a moment to look around.

The APCs, if they had ever really been there, were certainly gone now; there was a haze in the air made of smoke and other unsavory chemicals, but it didn’t obscure the vision. The air smelled somewhat of said dangerous chemicals, but more of dusty ground and petrichor. Clouds gathered ominously high overhead, but for now there was no rain.

The unmistakable sounds of a fight were coming from just up the road, though, and Bruno pushed himself to his feet with a groan. He spat more blood onto the ground, then grimaced as he traced the split in his lip with his tongue. It looked like the guy who’d come at him with a knife had deserted the larger fight to scavenge corpses, as there was no-one else in Bruno’s line of vision.

He oriented himself with the battle sounds and took a few steps before pausing. “Thanks,” he said, not looking around.

Behind him came a faint chuckle. “Anytime. Semper Fi, Hamilton.” The voice faded as it spoke until the very last word was nothing more than a whisper.

Bruno readied his gun and marched forward towards the fight.


End file.
